


again

by TheLanceShow



Series: Love hurts [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Anger, Angst, Apologies, Boys In Love, Cussing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Lance/Shiro (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Shiro (Voltron), Its not his fault okay, Lance (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Made For Each Other, Marijuana, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death, Okay listen theyre gonna get better, References to Drugs, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Shiro rlly loves his bf tho, They love each other, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLanceShow/pseuds/TheLanceShow
Summary: Shiro doesn't know how they got this bad.But he's pretty sure they're going to make it either way.





	again

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I have yet to update any of my MANY multichapter fics but like angst

The headphones placed firmly over his ears blast music that helps induce serenity, though it's counterproductive with how loud it is. But that's what he was aiming for; he doesn't wanna hear the screaming anymore. He feels a vibration through the wall and flinches a bit, squeezing the stress ball in his hand harder and clenching his jaw tighter.

Shiro doesn't know how they got this bad.

And he can still kind of hear him.

When Lance gets angry, he's a tornado, a tsunami, a hurricane, and he destroys. All he does when he's irrationally infuriated is demolish everything he possibly can.

This is the worse that Shiro has ever seen him, though. They got into a tiny squabble because Lance had a small wad of cash in his hand. He made to leave, but Shiro stopped him, asking what the money was for. 

"Weed," Lance responded honestly, truthfully. But--

"Lance, that's an awful lot of money," Shiro said with a frown. Lance frowned right back at him.

"You don't even know how much I'm carrying," he said, though it lilted like a question.

"Lance," Shiro started with a sigh. He paused whatever mindless thing was playing on TV. 

"What," Lance snapped, striding over to the door. His hand gripped the handle tight enough for strain to be seen in his wrist.

"Why do you need so much?"

"Shiro, I've been havin' a really shit week."

"You can't think to do anything else other than smoke pot?"

"What if I don't wanna do anything else but smoke pot?" 

They locked eyes, a fire in Lance's that's different than usual.

"Lance."

"Takashi."

"Are you addicted?"

Lance's mouth popped open. "Ex _cuse_ me?"

"Put down the money. We can figure--"

Shiro grunted as the roll of money hit his chest. He catched it in his hand as it fell. He winced at Lance's booming voice.

"You _dare_ fucking ask me if I'm addicted to fucking _marijuana?!_ " he shouted. He stomped over to a cabinet in the kitchen as Shiro stood up. When he wrenched it open, bottles upon bottles of hard liquor are revealed. "This is _your_ shit, Shiro. _Yours!_ "

"Do you see me drinking every day?" Shiro asked calmly. He placed the money on the counter.

"Not everyone is _like_ you, Shiro!" Lance spat, grabbing a bottle out of the cabinet. "Not everyone is going to get addicted to _every little_ fucking drug they have in their system! As if weed is even easy to get addicted to! Just because _you_ did doesn't mean _I_ will!"

Shiro takes a step back as if struck. " _This_ is what we're doing now, huh? This is it, this is what's happening?"

He scrambles away as Lance viciously throws the bottle to the tile, sending alcohol and glass flying everywhere. 

"What the fuck are you _doing?!_ " Shiro shouted, shuffling forward carefully around the glass and grabbing Lance's wrist before he can throw another one. "Can you _think_ for two _fucking_ seconds?"

Lance glared at him before switching hands and grabbing a bottle of Bailey's. He threw it over his shoulder. It broke with a deafening crash.

"Sorry. Sorry, forgot that I'm too dumb to realize what I'm doing," Lance said blandly, thinly hiding the venom he clearly wants to dish.

He shook Shiros hand off of him with surprising ease and picked up a bottle of _Grand Marnier_. Shiro was about to jump back again, but Lance simply uncapped it and took a whiff. Then, he tipped it back against his lips, drinking a mouthful.

Lance wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Then proceeded to pour the rest on the floor. 

He slammed the empty container down hard on the counter, just so that cracks sprung up from the base.

"Do not," Lance hissed, "accuse me of destroying my body like that again."

"I'm worried," Shiro retorted incredulously. "This is what partners _do_ ; I'm _worried_ about you, Lance! You've been so--so _skittish_ and _angry_ lately, much more than usual, which is saying something! That's a sign of addiction!"

"Are you majoring in the medical field?" Lance asked, blindly grabbing another bottle. "That's a sign of me being _stressed_ the fuck out!"

Lance chucked it, and it whizzed past Shiro's ear, a faint buzz as it did. It exploded against the wall and Shiro turned to see fizzy, like pink liquid run down the wall.

"You're a _lunatic!_ " Shiro shouted, gripping Lance's shoulders. "Get your _shit_ together, Lance! What the _fuck_ is actually wrong with you? Why did something as little as _this_ set you off?!"

Lance shoved him, right below his neck so the force is harder. He tripped but caught himself, hands no longer on Lance.

"I told you that I'm having a shit week then you go and--and _charge_ me with being an _addict?_ Fuck--" Another bottle and Shiro skids around the counter, heading for the room. Alcohol splashes his heels as another bottle is thrown. "--you!"

Shiro had snugly fit headphones over his ears after hearing every cuss thrown his way. Insecurities, small, were targeted. He turned up the volume as high as he could so he couldn't hear Lance. He's still resting on the headboard, and Lance must know this, as he keeping throwing things at the wall. As if they're going to hit Shiro.

He notices the moment it stops.

He notices that Lance hasn't come into the room.

Shiro springs up from the bed, shoving his feet in a pair of slippers and grabbing a pair of Lance's. He peeks out his head from the door and walks out. Lance is sitting with his back against the couch, arms wrapped around his legs and forehead resting against his knees. His shoulders are shaking.

There's glass and alcohol everywhere. Lance's ass should be fine with the jeans he's wearing, but his feet are very obviously pressing into the glass. Shiro's not sure if it's red wine by his feet, or blood.

Shiro approaches slowly before squatting in front of Lance. He pries his feet from the glass and brushes off the bottom of each before slipping a sandal onto both, respectively.

Lance's voice is small when he speaks.

"Have you fallen out of love with me yet?"

Shiro blinks at him before running a hand through Lance's curls.

"I wouldn't be here if I had," Shiro states. Lance shakes harder beneath his hand.

"When are you going to?"

And, jeez, the question is incredibly insecure. Shiro hasn't once given an instance in which Lance should even ask the question. It's not like Lance gets angry often. That would be different. Besides, Lance doesn't get this bad very often anymore. It's about three times a week that's verbal, once a week physical, though never harming Shiro.

"It's highly possible that I won't."

At that, Lance looks up. His eyes are glossy and the blood vessels in his eyes look close to popping.

"Do you mean that?" Lance whispers. Shiro smiles sadly at him, knowing what he said is true.

"Yeah."

Lance doesn't say anything for a moment, instead staring at Shiro.

"Can you get me some gauze and wraps?"

 

After Lance cleaned the many wounds on the bottom of his feet and wrapped them so they wouldn't bleed, they begin to clean. Lance makes sure that Shiro does as little as possible. He attempts to get all of the glass swept up. But as he's doing that, Shiro cleans the alcohol from the floor and walls. Lance frowns at it but doesn't stop him.

It's a good thing Lance has an unhealthy obsession with having too many paper towels and cleaning supplies.

Shiro finds that three-fourths of the alcohol in the cabinet is gone. He's kind of okay with it. They didn't need that much anyway.

When they're done, Lance has that glossy look in his eye again. He looks incredibly drained, and he flips his slippers off of his feet before dragging himself to the couch. Shiro does the same and sits next to him. Lance leans his head on his shoulder.

"Do you wanna tell me what's wrong?" Shiro asks, keeping his tenor gentle. Lance sighs.

"Papa died on Monday from a stroke, grandma on Tuesday from stress on her heart. Mama got diagnosed with breast cancer on Wednesday. I failed my biology test on Thursday." Lance pauses. "Got into a bad fight with you today. Though, we have bad fights every week."

"Oh, Lance," Shiro says, throwing an arm around him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't ready to talk about it." Lance sighs, and his voice chokes. "I'm really sorry, Takashi. I know I'm a piece of shit for doing all of this and saying all the things I did. I'm sorry I'm such an unnecessary handful. It's--it's okay if you don't wanna be with me anymore. I'll understand."

"Lance, you have to realize that I'm in love with you. A bad fight isn't going to instantly change that." Shiro smiles to himself. "In fact, I would go through this a hundred times over if it meant you could always be in my arms."

Lance spells out the word against his thigh. Something he did when he knew if he spoke, he'd start crying.

_again?_

"Again."

**Author's Note:**

> Comment that good good to feed the author! Thanks!!


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